September 30th, 2007
I think I saw every single piece of artwork on display in the Tate Museum today. I could happily have spent longer there if there had been more to see. What was there was both fascinating and beautifully curated. I became of fan of Francis Picabia. He tried on artistic movements like new shirts - constantly changing, impossible to label. And he did it at least partly as an artistic statement in itself - ridiculing the pretentious seriousness of the art circles he moved in.
He even reinvented his own paintings, painting new elements over old, changing styles, content, meaning.
I have the same tendencies in my own work. I’ve been criticized for not clinging to a particular style - not being classifiable. There is some justification to the critique. One style can take years to fully comprehend and master. But I can’t resist the lure of exploration and many of my songs deliberately poke fun at the originals. I also reinvent old songs. “Circle of Stuff” started life as a rock anthem. Today it is a lively samba. The lyrics for “Spice it Up” were recently written over as the more controversial “Brazilian Wax” (though both versions have the theme of keeping sex adventurous over time). But enough about me.
After exhausting the Tate we moved operations to the Victoria & Albert Museum in search of artifacts from the 13th century for book research. We found a few interesting things - including beautiful reproductions of the tombs of King John and Eleanor of Aquitaine (one of the most interesting women ever).
A longish walk back to the hotel through Hyde Park and a brief respite before looking for dinner.
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The story was so telescoped that, aside from a few tender moments between Frodo and Sam, the characters could do little more than shout, stentoriously declaim or give backstory. The acting was wooden - even amateurish in places (shame on you Elrond), even beyond the limitations of the script. In the best musicals, the songs either move the story forward (Cabaret, Chicago) or are musically so memorable as to be worth the stop (West Side Story). In the worse musicals, they are interruptions where everything stops so an obligatory song can be delivered. The songs in this show were not only forgettable (there was one nice one by Sam, longing to sit by the fireside) but committed the sin of stopping the story dead in its tracks every damn time.
I was left with only my imagination to fill in all the human lives they touched. I learned something about the temptation of voyeurism. The backs of those photos created a tension and energy that a representational image could not have approached. Was it a gimmick? Perhaps. Did it require exceptional skill or craftsmanship? Perhaps not. Did it communicate a profound and creative artistic vision? Absolutely.
